All Fun And Games Until Somebody Breaks a Leg
by Firebird9
Summary: The station's been unusually quiet lately, and Jack's starting to notice.
1. Chapter 1

**All Fun And Games Until Somebody Breaks a Leg**

By Firebird

Rating: PG

...

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson tried hard to concentrate on the file in front of him, detailing the most recent developments in a complicated counterfeiting case, but it wasn't easy. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, a sense of something not quite right. He sat back in his chair and thought for a moment.

Around him, the sounds of the station followed their familiar rhythms: booted feet in the hallway, male voices made indistinct by the walls, the ring of a telephone, a shout from someone in the cells demanding freedom or a cigarette or just wanting to make a nuisance of themselves. There was nothing that shouldn't have been there, but at the same time there was something missing.

"Constable Collins?"

The younger man stuck his head around the door. "Yes sir?"

"Have we seen Miss Fisher lately? The station seems unusually peaceful."

"No sir. She broke her leg in a motorcycle accident last week. She's laid up at home."

"She broke her leg?" Jack straightened in his chair. "Is she alright?"

An expression of worried confusion crossed Collins' face, as it sometimes did when he was faced with a question that he wasn't sure he could answer correctly. "No, sir. She has a broken leg."

"Apart from that?"

"Uh, according to Dot she has some cuts and scrapes, but mainly she's just bored with being stuck at home." He smiled. "You know Miss Fisher."

"Indeed I do." Confined to bed. Phryne would hate that. Well, he amended, with no choice in the matter and in the absence of male company, she would hate that.

"Will that be all sir?"

"Uh, yes. Thank you Collins."

...

He left work early, and stopped by a florist's stall on his way. Flowers would be acceptable under the circumstances, although it was difficult to know what to choose. Roses might send the wrong message, but beyond that he was unversed in the language of flowers. In the end he settled for a mixed bunch of bright blooms.

He rang the bell, and cleared his throat as he waited for her door to open.

"Good evening sir." It was a relief to be greeted by the discreet Mr. Butler rather than Dot, who might well have misinterpreted both his arrival and the flowers.

"Good evening. I heard Miss Fisher had been injured. I was wondering whether she might see me."

"Come on in, sir."

He hung his coat and hat on the stand in the hallway before checking his reflection in the mirror while the butler went to announce his arrival. He was straightening his tie when the man returned.

"Inspector Robinson? Miss Fisher will see you in the living room"

Phryne was lying on a chaise longue, one leg encased in plaster and propped up on a pillow. A nasty scrape was healing on her cheek and chin, and her eyes lacked some of their usual sparkle, although they lit up as he entered.

"Jack! How good to see you. Are those for me?"

"They are indeed." He held the flowers out to her as he approached, but couldn't help but notice a large bouquet of red roses on the mantelpiece, and an even larger arrangement of white lilies in the corner. He felt embarrassed, suddenly, by his own small offering. "But I'm afraid they can't compete with what you already have."

"Nonsense." She buried her nose in them. "The roses are from a frankly rather ghastly young man who doesn't yet seem to have understood the implausibility of my being out every time he's called this week, and the lilies make me think of funerals. These are much more my thing. Mr. Butler," she raised her voice, calling to the man who was already returning with a vase, "take care of these for me, won't you?"

"Of course, Miss."

Jack couldn't help but notice the way her fingers lingered on the bouquet as the butler took them from her, but turned his attention back to Phryne as she addressed him again.

"Do you have to leave right away, or do you have time for a cup of tea?"

"Tea would be lovely, if it's not an imposition."

She laughed. "Oh, I'm going mad with boredom lying here all day. I'll ring for Dot, and you can tell me tales of murder and mayhem while she brings us something to drink."

He took a seat in an armchair placed nearby, presumably to accommodate visitors, while his host rang a small silver bell on the table beside her.

"Yes Miss?" Dot appeared in the doorway. If Phryne seemed to have lost some of her sparkle, Dot looked positively wrung out. No doubt her mistress was being the world's most difficult patient.

"Would you bring us some tea please, and perhaps a couple of those biscuits you were baking earlier?"

"Of course Miss." She smiled at Jack. "I hope you can stay a while, Inspector. Miss Fisher could use the company." 'And I could use the respite', lingered unspoken in her eyes.

He smiled back at her. "Well, I'll do my best."

Dot left to make the tea, and for a moment Jack and Phryne just looked at each other in silence. It occurred to him quite suddenly that, for all the time they spent together, they were seldom without a case to discuss.

"So," he broke the silence, "A motorcycle accident. What on earth induced you to get on one of those things?"

She shrugged. "It looked like fun. And," she smiled impishly, "It was."

"Right up until you crashed and broke your leg."

"Well, yes, but these things happen. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"The word 'caution' just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"

He knew he was being harsh, but he couldn't help it. Seeing her lying there, apparently unconcerned by the injuries she had sustained in yet another madcap escapade, irked him.

"Why Inspector, I didn't realise how much you cared."

"Of course I bloody care! You are without a doubt the most foolhardy, reckless, devil-may-care woman I've ever met, and if it hasn't occurred to you that you're likely to get yourself killed, it certainly has to me."

She stared up at him as he stood over her, apparently speechless for once. A small sound drew his attention to Dot, standing stunned in the doorway with a tea-tray in her hands, and he remembered himself.

"My apologies, Miss Fisher, I had no right to raise my voice to you, much less use strong language."

She was silent for a moment, looking at him, and he swallowed nervously. She would be well within her rights to ask him to leave after such a shocking outburst, and the sound of her butler's swift footsteps in the hallway suggested that he was on his way to do exactly that, should his mistress desire it.

"Oh, I've heard far worse. Sit down and drink your tea. Dot?"

"Yes Miss." Her young companion served the tea, shooting wary glances at him the whole time. He looked at Phryne, but spoke as much to Dot as to her.

"I really am very sorry."

"And you're forgiven. Just don't let it happen again: I really don't appreciate having men raise their voices to me." Her tone was light, but there was a note of warning in it, and the gaze she levelled at him was steely. He nodded acceptance. It was a line he wouldn't cross again in a hurry. He cleared his throat as Dot quietly left the room.

"So, the station seems almost peaceful without you."

"Does that mean you miss me?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, but I will admit you bring a certain unique quality to my investigations."

"So you do miss me."

He chuckled slightly. "Alright, yes, I miss you. But if Constable Collins asks, I'll deny I ever said it."

"Of course. So, are you working on anything interesting at the moment?"

He started to explain the counterfeiting case to her, trying to lay things out logically and anticipate her questions in order to avoid too many interruptions, but broke off suddenly. "Oh, I don't believe it!"

"I take it you've only just realised they're using the Chinese grocery carts to transport the newly-forged currency?"

"How could I have missed that?"

"Quite easily. The trucks made more sense. In fact, the counterfeiters may even have counted on using them as a red herring to misdirect any police investigation."

"I'll need to put my men on it tomorrow." He smiled. "How is it that even with a broken leg you somehow manage to help me solve a case?"

She smiled smugly at him. "Because, like it or not Jack Robinson, I'm one of the best detectives you know."

He cast around for something else to say rather than admit that he agreed with her. "These biscuits are good."

"Yes, Dot's quite the cook."

"Your flowers, Miss." Mr. Butler arrived in the doorway, Jack's gift now artfully arranged in an elegant vase. He had to admit, the butler's attentions had elevated them almost to the level of the other arrangements in the room.

"Over here, where I can admire them." Phryne lifted several books from the table beside her, and looked around uncertainly for somewhere to put them. Jack took them from her hands without comment.

"Very good, Miss." The butler placed the flowers on the table, bowed slightly, and left.

Phryne moved a few more items around on the table, then reached for her books. "Thank you, Jack."

"I take it you do like them, then? The flowers." He was aware that he sounded like an anxious boy looking for approval, but she had that effect on him at times. The smile she turned on him was soft, the one she used in those rare moments when they were in a state of harmony rather than the usual low-level conflict which acted as a safety-valve for other, more dangerous, feelings.

"They're beautiful. They make me remember what it's like to be outside instead of shut up in here."

He suppressed a smile. "It's only been a week."

"With at least three more to go. Do you know what Mac's done?" He shook his head. "Turned my entire household against me. Even Burt and Cec refuse to be prevailed upon to assist me in escaping from my sickbed."

"Well, perhaps once she grants you parole you'll allow me to take you for a drive." He was surprised to hear himself making the offer, but it was worth it for her smile.

"I'm sure with you to look after me, she'll be willing to consider it. She thinks you're a 'good influence'."

"Well I certainly won't be letting you get on any motorcycles."

She stuck her tongue out. "Spoilsport."

"It's all part of the job." He glanced at the clock. "Speaking of which, I should be going. I have some counterfeiters to arrest tomorrow."

"Of course." She rang her bell. "Do be sure to stop by and let me know how the case works out."

He nodded, rising. "I'll do that."

Dot returned and, seeing him preparing to leave, waited by the door to show him out. He turned to Phryne.

"Good evening, Miss Fisher."

She offered him her hand and, to his own surprise, he took it, bowed low over it, and kissed it gently.

"Good evening, Inspector. It's been a pleasure."

"For me as well." He met her eye. "Try to get some rest. The station just isn't the same without you."


	2. Chapter 2

_Just a little follow-up that popped into my head. Many thanks to Seldarius for suggesting a couple of improvements - the fic is better for it._

* * *

"Oh, come on, Mac. Jack's promised not to let me get on any more motorcycles."

"Unless the Inspector promises to shackle you to him, the answer's still 'no'. You need to rest that leg, and I know perfectly well that as soon as I let you out that door you'll forget all about resting and try to race off after a pick-pocket, or a bank robber, or a bloody pigeon, or something."

"I haven't chased pigeons since I was five years old," Phryne told her old friend, affecting wounded dignity.

"And you're not going to have the opportunity to start again anytime soon."

"Mac. Please. I promise I'll be good."

Doctor Elizabeth Macmillan leaned towards her friend and narrowed her eyes. "If you spend the next week resting, in absolute compliance with doctor's orders, I'll consider it."

Phryne adopted an angelic look that would not have fooled anyone and smiled at her. "I promise."

...

Being on her best behaviour for an entire week was almost unbearable, and Phryne spent much of her time trying to think of ways to pay Mac back for it once she was back on her feet, but seven days later her friend grudgingly conceded that she could indeed accept Jack Robinson's offer to take her for a drive.

He noticed her grin as soon as he arrived that evening.

"You look more than usually pleased with yourself," he remarked as he took his now-accustomed seat opposite her.

"I have good news."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Guess."

"You've decided to give up crime and spend your days sewing clothing for orphans instead?"

"Jack, please. Those poor children have suffered enough already. Try again."

"You've discovered the religious life, and intend to enter a convent?"

"Don't let Dot hear you making light of such matters; I'm sure God wouldn't be pleased if you upset her. Guess again"

"No, I'm sorry, you'll just have to tell me."

She smirked at him. "And you call yourself a detective?"

"And have the badge to prove it, unlike some people I could mention."

Except for a brief look of disdain, she chose to ignore that comment. "Mac has finally relented and agreed to allow you to take me out for a drive."

He smiled. He had suspected that was the reason for her happiness, but it was always more fun to tease her than to simply come out with an answer.

"When were you hoping we might go?"

"Whenever's convenient for you, but make it soon Jack, please?"

It wasn't her usual wheedling tone, he noticed, the one she used when she wanted him to do something for her that he probably shouldn't do, or give her information that she probably shouldn't have. This time there was a note of genuine pleading in her voice, and he smiled more gently.

"What about Saturday? Do you think you'll be able to hold on until then?"

She pouted, but now it was artful. "It seems I don't have much choice in the matter."

"None whatsoever." He smiled and rose. "I shall see you on Saturday, Miss Fisher."

...

To his surprise, the door was opened on Saturday afternoon not by Mr. Butler, nor by Dot, but by Dr. Macmillan. He had no time to recover, let alone remove his coat and hat, before she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the dining room, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Now you listen to me, Jack Robinson, and listen well. We both know Phryne doesn't have the sense she was born with, so I am placing you in charge of her safety. No motorbikes. Also, no bicycles, unicycles, motorcars, or vehicles of any description except for the Hispano, which I expect you and no-one else, most definitely including her, to be driving at all times. She is not to run, jump, climb, skip, or try to dance a bloody tango. She is not to get her cast wet, she is not to disappear off with a man – no matter how attractive he may be – and she is to be back here no later than 5pm. And I ask you to bear in mind that I am a doctor and can think of any number of interesting and painful things to do to your anatomy if you do allow anything to happen to her. Is that understood?"

In the face of her verbal assault he could only stand, gaping. Now he composed himself enough to speak. "I can assure you Miss Fisher's comfort and safety will be foremost in my mind at all times."

She gave him one last long, hard look and nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good. Shall we?" She gestured towards the door, and he preceded her into the parlour.

"Jack!"

It was incredible, he thought, how happiness lit up her features. Seated on the loveseat, Phryne looked like a little girl impatiently awaiting a long-anticipated treat, and he smiled warmly at her. "Miss Fisher."

Mac, however, gave a low and disapproving growl and pinned her patient with an intimidating glare. "Just remember what I told you: if you don't behave yourself there'll be no more outings until that cast is off, and maybe not even then."

"Yes mother."

Mr. Butler cleared his throat discreetly from the doorway. "The car is ready whenever you are, Miss, Inspector."

"Thank you, Mr. Butler." Phryne reached for the crutches at her side and stood before Jack could even think to offer his assistance. "Shall we?"

He followed along behind as, with surprising speed and agility, she hopped from the room, out of the front door that Mr. Butler held open for her, and down the steps to the gate. She paused there, evidently trying to figure out how to open it without losing her grip on her crutches or her purse, and he stepped past and opened it for her.

"Allow me."

"Thank you, Jack."

It was more complicated when they reached the car, and after a few moments of awkward consideration he took her crutches and stowed them in the back seat, then lifted her carefully into the front passenger's seat. He walked around to the driver's side and climbed in, pausing and smiling briefly to himself before starting the engine. He had always secretly coveted the chance to drive her Hispano-Suiza, a car originally designed to be fit for a king, but had never thought he'd have the opportunity.

He pulled out, and drove carefully along the road.

"Come on Jack, we can go faster than this."

He gave her a pointed look. "I don't think so, Miss Fisher."

"Why not?"

"Well, firstly, there's the small matter of the legal speed limit, which I realise is of negligible importance to you, but is of rather more significance to me as an officer of the law. And secondly, there's the fact that Dr. Macmillan has promised to do unpleasant things to me should I make the mistake of allowing anything to happen to you. So we are going to enjoy a nice, safe, slow drive around the city, and nothing you can say or do is going to induce me to go any faster than I deem appropriate."

"Nothing?" He glanced at her, and saw the wicked gleam in her eye that warned him of danger ahead. "I'm sure I can think of something."

"I'm sure you'll try. Now, did you have any particular destination in mind?"

She tilted her head back into the breeze. "The seaside!"

"Alright." He signalled, then turned carefully onto a road that would take them down to the promenade.

Of course, they had hardly been there a minute when Phryne began to beg him to pull over so she could go down onto the sand.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked, knowing that it wasn't, and also knowing that it was pointless trying to argue with her when she'd made up her mind to something. And she really did seem almost pathetically glad to be out of the house. It struck him suddenly just how difficult it must be for someone who valued their freedom as much as she did to have it taken away, even for a few weeks. With a sigh, he pulled over and helped her from the car.

He offered her the crutches, but retained his grip on them when she tried to pull them away. She frowned up at him, and he placed his face close to hers, holding her gaze with his own.

"If you go within three feet of that water, I'll report you to Dr. Macmillan."

She gave him an outraged look. "Blackmail, Inspector?"

He gave a firm nod. "Blackmail, Miss Fisher. I'm not having you getting that cast wet."

She tried again to pull her crutches away, but he resisted. "Phryne?"

"Fine."

He relinquished his hold, and she shot him a look of wounded dignity before heading towards the steps that led to the sand.

It was clear almost immediately that she was going to have trouble walking on the yielding, uneven surface, and he kept a close eye on her as he walked beside her, ready to catch her if she looked as though she were going to fall. After a few moments she stopped and stared out over the sea, and he took the opportunity to suggest that perhaps they could just sit awhile. When she agreed, he spread his coat as an impromptu rug, then helped her to sit down.

For a while they simply sat there, side by side, their arms just barely touching as they stared out over the water.

"Thank you for this," Phryne said at last, and he smiled at her.

"You're welcome."

After that, they let the peace stretch out again, until Phryne suddenly started and tried to get up. "Damn!"

"Miss Fisher?" Unencumbered by a cast, he was quicker to his feet than she was and hooked his hands beneath her shoulders, hauling her inelegantly but effectively to her feet before passing her crutches to her once again. The tide, he noticed, had crept in on them unawares, and it was the sudden shock of cold water against her foot which had startled Phryne.

"Did it get your cast?" he asked anxiously, thoughts of Dr. Macmillan's impending wrath flashing through his mind.

"No, fortunately, just the shoe on my other foot."

"Just as well."

He retrieved his coat, and they headed back towards the car.

"Must we leave so soon?" she asked at the top of the stairs, and he looked at his watch.

"We still have plenty of time." He glanced around for inspiration. "How about I buy you an ice-cream?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful!"

He couldn't help but shake his head at that. The woman could doubtless have bought an entire ice-cream factory, were she so inclined, yet she seemed positively delighted at the thought of having him buy her a cone. He left her sitting on a bench while he bought the sweet treats, then handed hers over before sitting down next to her.

"So tell me, what's so special about ice-cream?" he asked, with a sideways glance, when they were half-way through their cones.

"Mmm." She smiled, and was silent for long enough that he wondered whether he was going to receive an answer. "When we were children, Janey and I used to sneak aboard the trams and ride down here"- he didn't have to ask whose idea that had been –"and we'd watch the couples strolling together. I remember thinking there could be no finer thing in life than to stroll along the waterfront in a pretty dress with a handsome man who would buy you ice-cream."

For a moment he was lost for words, deeply touched by her connection between those childhood yearnings and their current situation. "Well, at least you have the ice-cream and the pretty dress," he managed at last, glancing at her again.

"And the handsome man!" She turned to him, indignant, and he felt his cheeks warm. Perhaps realising she had gone too far, she glanced down at her leg and wrinkled her nose. "Although I have to say that the cast wasn't part of the original plan," she added, steering the conversation back onto safer ground.

"Well, that's what you get for fooling around on motorbikes," he remarked with something dangerously close to a smirk.

She responded by nudging his elbow just as he raised his cone to his lips again, smearing ice-cream over his nose and chin. She giggled with childish glee at the effect, and he gave her an exasperated look and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief.

...

When their ice-creams were finished, he escorted her back to the car and drove her home, still at the same careful pace. Mac was waiting for them when they arrived, and swept her friend with a single top-to-toe look, before glaring accusingly at Jack. "She's sunburned."

"But her cast is intact, we avoided running, dancing, and water"- only just, although he didn't add that last –"and, as you can see, I have her home safe and sound, and it's," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes to five."

"And I've had a wonderful time," Phryne added, pinning the doctor with a meaningful look. "It was so nice to get out of the house."

"Perhaps I could take you out again next Saturday," Jack heard himself suggesting.

"If my mother will allow it?" Phryne commented, with a humourous glance at her friend.

Mac frowned for a minute, then smiled. "Oh, go on then. God knows, I'll never hear the end of it otherwise."

...

Over the next two months, while her leg mended and then slowly regained its strength, he took her driving or strolling every Saturday. It was only when she hared off after a young thief that he realised that he really didn't need to keep taking her out anymore. But by then it had become a habit.


End file.
